roach a woman who
despised him--looked upon him as an adventurer and fortune-hunter.

Still Philippa came on slowly, bowing, smiling, and jesting--she ever
approached nearer.

Mowbray felt a shudder run through his body, and turned to leave the
spot.

As he did so, he heard a voice which made his ears tingle, his heart
sink, his cheek flush, utter in the most quiet manner, and without any
exhibition of coldness or satire or affectation, the words:

"Good evening, Mr. Mowbray. Will you not speak to me?"

Mowbray became calm suddenly, by one of those efforts of resolution
which characterized him.

"Good evening, madam," he said, approaching the young girl
unconsciously; "I trust you are well."

And wondering at himself, he stood beside her.

"I believe I am very well," she said, smiling; "will you give me your
arm?"

Mowbray presented his arm, bowing calmly; and with a smile which
embraced the whole mortified group of gentlemen, the young girl turned
away with him.

"I have not had the pleasure of seeing you--have I?--lately," she
said; "where have you been, if I may ask a very impertinent question?"

"At Williamsburg, madam."

"And never at Shadynook?"

"I was informed that you had gone home."

"Yes, so I did. But then if you had much--friendship for me, I think
you might have followed me."

Mowbray was so much moved by the fascinating glance which accompanied
these words, that he could only murmur:

"Follow you, madam?"

"Yes; I believe when gentlemen have friends--particular friends among
the ladies, and those friends leave them, they go to seek them."

"I am unfortunately a poor law student, madam--I have little time for
visits."

Philippa smiled.

"I am afraid that is an evasion, sir," she said.

"How, madam?"

"The true reason I fear is, that the rule I have spoken of does not
apply to you and myself."

"The rule----?"

"That we follow our particular friends--or rather that the gentlemen
do. I fear you do not regard me in that light."

Mowbray could only say:

"Why should I not, madam?"

Philippa paused for a moment; and then said, smiling:

"Shall I tell you?"

"Yes."

"I fancy then that something which I said in our last interview
offended you."

This was a home thrust, and Mowbray could not reply.

"Answer," she said; "did you not come away from that interview
thinking me very rude, very unladylike, very affected and unlovely?
did you not cordially determine never to